Something
by hallowgirlfrommars
Summary: There's something about Isabelle. Just something about her. Companion piece to my longer fanfiction, Looking On. It's a snapshot of Merrill's thoughts at one point in the story-and if you haven't read Looking On, it won't make much sense, as it features my OC, Isabelle. I don't own Signs, or anything in this story, apart from Isabelle, my OC! Just a one-shot companion piece!


**Hi, everyone! I promised the readers of Looking On, my longer Signs fanfiction, that I'd do a sequel at some point. That's still happening, just not for a couple of months, because I've got exams at the minute-everyone cheer the education system *sarcastically cheers*-but this idea came to me for a companion piece. And I wrote it, so here it is.**

**This is a companion piece to Looking On, and it's a portion of Merrill's thoughts, in third-person, at one point in the story. It's set midway through Chapter 8, Learning to Fall, which is when he and Isabelle are sitting in the closet, watching the TV! It's just for a companion to my other fanfiction, and it's just a one-shot! Obviously, if you haven't read Looking On, this won't make much sense as it contains my OC, Isabelle! So, you might want to read Looking On before you read this! And if you've read Looking On, well, I hope you'll enjoy this! Thanks to PenitentiaryBound for her encouragement on the idea!**

**Here you go!**

Merrill steals another quick glance at her, watching the way her hair brushes her shoulders, as she tucks it quickly behind her ears. He wonders if she can feel the weight of his gaze, the way he can't tear his eyes away, even when she glances at him, her eyes meeting his. He smiles, unable to stop himself, measuring the distance between them, the feeling of her nestled under his arm, the way her hair tickles under his fingers.

She leans back, inadvertently moving closer to him. Merrill's nerves seem to be alive, his skin tingling with each brush of hers', wanting her closer with each minute he sits next to her, remembering how it had felt hugging her a few moments ago, her head against his shoulder, how he'd wanted to pull her closer, but she'd been upset...the way earlier, she'd been leaning in toward him, her mouth inches from his own, the way any thoughts had been drowned out by how fast his heart was beating, blood thundering in his ears...

His gaze flickers back to the television and he wonders idly if this is the wrong moment to be considering all this, with what's going on. But he can't help it. Isabelle's right next to him, warm and real and there, and she's...He doesn't have the words, but there's something about her, something that means he can't take his eyes off her, something that keeps her voice echoing in his head long after she's stopped speaking, something that makes him want to pull her close and never let her go.

Isabelle's voice is gentle next to his ear, her hand skimming over his. He isn't sure if that's intentional or not. He hopes it is.

"Been a great few days, hasn't it?" Her eyes meet his and there's that small quirk at the corner of her mouth as she smiles, the way the dimples appear in her cheeks. He could stare at that smile all day. He wonders if she can hear how fast he's breathing, wanting to lean in and touch his mouth to hers, wanting to feel her mouth against his...and even the thought of it sends his skin into a riot of sensation, with the thought of her touching him, her mouth and how soft her lips look from here...

Merrill has to drag his thoughts back to what she's saying, keeping his eyes on hers'. He loves her eyes. They're blue and green, with streaks of grey-he's never seen eyes like that before, kind of like a lake-and he wants to stare into them, lose himself in them. He fights the urge to stroke her cheek with his thumb, remembers with picture-perfect precision, the way her finger danced under his lip a few seconds earlier, and feels himself shudder slightly, longing for her to do it again.

Isabelle sighs, and he might be imagining it, but he thinks she moves closer to him. "Aliens. Ray Reddy. Me practically collapsing on you." She smiles again, but there's a nervousness in her gaze this time, a trepidation, that makes him want to wrap his arms round her, tell her everything's going to be all right.

"You must be pretty fed up," she whispers and he stares at her, because he doesn't think he could ever get fed up being around her. She's-she's-

He remembers her staring up at him the other day-and it's so weird to think he's only known her two days, so freaking weird-when he'd first seen her, staring at the dog lying dead on the ground. He remembers how she'd stared at him, her eyes widening, before she'd glanced quickly away, biting her lip, as though embarrassed, her eyes darting toward him almost involuntarily. He remembered the feeling that had gone through him then, kind of how he'd imagined it would be to be struck by lightning, though not quite that dramatic. Just something about her-the way she stood, her nails travelling to her mouth unconsciously. The way she introduced herself, halting over her sister's name. The way her smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, hair blowing over her face, but with that twinge of worry in her eyes. Staring at her, Merrill had felt the bizarre urge to reach over and gently nudge her lips into a smile, wipe away any traces of worry from her eyes, see them open wide for him. Something about Isabelle...just something about her...She wasn't like any other girl he'd ever known.

"Not really." His own voice is suddenly serious, the words softer than he'd intended. But he wants her to know, wants her to know he'd listen to her all day if she liked, that he never gets tired of listening to her, of hearing what she's got to say, because she's never boring with it, never like anyone else he's listened to. She's different. Different and he likes it.

He'd known a bit about her, obviously-known that she had this thought-Merrill winces inwardly-thing, that she finds some stuff difficult, that she gets worried. But knowing about her and seeing her are two different things.

She looks worried when she doesn't think anyone else can see, is something he's noticed, and she watches Morgan and Bo more carefully than even she realises. And they love her. They'd both always talked about her, but they chatter away, they slip their hands into hers'-it's obvious to Merrill they both adore her. But she still frowns to herself, that little crease of worry seeping between her eyes whenever she thinks no-one's watching, and he wants to just reach out and stroke it away, bring the smile back to her lips.

Last night, when they'd been sitting on the couch, her head on his shoulder, he'd kept his eyes straight ahead on the screen, trying to ignore the sensation of her hair brushing his cheek, the tickle of her breath against the skin of his neck, the faint scent of strawberries, when she moved closer to him...he'd sneaked the occasional fleeting glimpse of her, lying asleep on his shoulder, her lips pursed in the shape of a kiss, and he'd longed to brush his own against them...

Her hand moves as she gestures to the television, her eyebrows furrowing again, that crease of worry, and Merrill has to fight the impulse to lean in and brush her lips with his, tease a smile out of her mouth. _God, you're so beautiful._

"I still can't believe this stuff." Her voice is low with worry, and she sighs, curling closer to him, even though she doesn't realise it. Something about that makes him smile-that she's turning to him, even without thinking about it. That she trusts him, maybe, a little. Something about that makes him want to pull her closer.

"God-" She stares at the screen, her gaze intense enough that he's able to keep his eyes on her face, drink her in without her noticing, and staring back at him. He bites his lip, wishing she'd turn towards him...let his mouth brush against hers'...

"What a weekend to come and stay." She tries for a smile, her eyes meeting his, that quirk of her lip there again, and he wants to pull her close, to tell her not to worry, that he won't let anything happen to her, that he'd never let anything happen to her..

Graham's words are echoing in his head from the night before. _You don't just-like-Isabelle. You-care about her. _And looking at her now, Merrill knows that's right, has known it since he first spoke to her really. Just the way she _talks-_the way she knows so much, the way she was nattering on earlier about what she was into as a kid, all this alien stuff-Merrill could listen to her all day, and it's the way she looks at him, almost as if she's afraid she's boring him, and he wants to tell her he's never been less bored in his life.

"Do you wish you hadn't?" He winces inwardly the second the words are out of his mouth-they sound so stupid, so needy, but they were hovering behind his lips before he knew it. He can't help gritting his teeth at the thought of her not coming this weekend-not having met her, not before all this happened...

Isabelle turns to face him, her eyes meeting his, and he has to fight for breath, with those eyes locked on his, those eyes, like a lake, luring him under, and he wants to just pull her toward him and kiss her, stroking her hair off her face...

Her mouth is curved into a small smile, her eyes flickering to his mouth almost unconsciously. "No," she whispers, the words a breath against his skin. "I don't wish I hadn't come."

Merrill's heart is leaping against his chest, and he has to struggle not to kiss her right there and then. But he can see the way her eyes travel to his lips and his entire body's alive with it, with wanting her closer to him-just the feel of her, nestled under his arm, is driving him crazy with how much he wants her to come nearer.

"Why not?" The words fall from his lips almost before he realises it and he can't believe how close she is to him, her eyes blinking almost uncertainly for a moment, fanned by those long, long lashes-Merrill's arm falls further around her shoulders and he wonders if she can actually hear his heartbeat.

Earlier, when she'd been talking to him, telling him stuff-stuff she didn't seem to have told anyone before-he'd found his fingers intertwining with hers', almost without thinking, just wanting her close, wanting to comfort her, wanting to-he almost grits his teeth at the thought of it-wanting, even though it happened years ago, to _kill _Lionel Pritchard and his group, for making fun of her, for winding her up, even if she was a kid when it happened-

But most of all, he'd wanted her closer, wanted to tell her it was all OK, that he'd never hurt her, that he'd never let anything hurt her, that she was worth more than any of them-

Isabelle moves closer to him and even with his heart pounding like this, Merrill has time to think the oddly crystal-clear thought that he can hardly believe he's only known Isabelle two days-it seems longer, so much longer than that, and yet he's still learning about her-and how can they only have known each other _two days?_

Her lips move slowly, forming words and Merrill keeps his eyes on hers', the softness of her skin and the warmth of her body and how _near _she is almost sending him crazy with sheer longing.

"Because I met you," she whispers, her eyes still holding his and he can see the truth of it in her gaze, along with a hint of nervousness, of fear. "That's why."

He can't speak for a minute. All he can do is stare at her, take her in with his eyes and let the words play over and over in his head, because there's no way she could have said it. Graham's words from the night before echo in his head dimly, resounding in his brain.

_She hasn't been able to keep her eyes off you..._

Merrill can barely breathe, he's this close to her. He can hear his heartbeat, pounding like a drum in his head. "Isabelle-" All he can say is her name, and he loves how it tastes on his lips, the feeling of it in his mouth. A familiar heat is gripping his entire body, but it's different with her, it's different from how it's ever been with anyone else, she's just...

Merrill's thought seem to dissolve in a storm, as Isabelle slowly moves closer to him, her eyes still on his mouth, that silent question caught in them, her gaze locked with his. He moves slowly closer to her, catching his breath as his body brushes against hers'.

"Catch me if I fall?" That's what he thinks she says, is almost certain she whispers, barely a breath in her throat, as she leans closer, her hair brushing his cheek, and he wants to tell her that he won't let her fall, that he'll be there, that it's OK, he won't let anything happen, he won't hurt her, he'd never hurt her...

Her skin is soft, and his hand brushes her neck as he tilts his head to hers', his entire body straining toward her. Her eyes blink uncertainly, gently, and Merrill wonders for a moment if she'll ever see herself the way he sees her, like she is now, waiting and so beautiful he doesn't know if he can stand it. Her eyes flicker closed and so do his, his hands stroking the back of her neck, her skin warm and sweet...

And then Merrill's mouth brushes hers' and he stops thinking.

Any words vanish from his mind, except her name, which echoes inside his brain as loudly as if someone had said it aloud; the only thing he can do is feel her so close to him, her mouth moving with his, warm and soft and tasting of strawberries, her hand stroking the skin of his cheek. Merrill can feel his heart slamming against his chest, his clothes suddenly too tight for his body. He hears a strange gasp, and realises it's himself, pulling her closer, his body begging her to be nearer-her fingers brush the skin at the back of his neck and he shudders at the sensation, coaxing her mouth open gently with his lips, wanting to whisper to her that it's OK, that he'll never hurt her, never, that he can't have known her only two days, he can't, because how can he possibly feel like this if he's only known her two days?...But she makes a small sound in the back of her throat, her hand stroking that skin again, and Merrill loses himself in her mouth, in the softness of her skin under his fingers, his hands finding their way into her hair, the warm weight of it, blanketing his hands. He keeps his eyes closed, doesn't let anything break into it, just lets himself dissolve into Isabelle, her mouth and her hands, and her arms around his shoulders, and kisses her the way he's wanted to since the first moment he saw her.

He isn't sure how long it is before they break apart, slowly, Merrill becoming dimly aware that he's gasping for breath, his heartbeat almost painful, his skin burning. He leans back, keeps his hand on Isabelle's cheek, watching as her eyes slowly open, her gaze meeting his. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes wide, as she watches him. She bites her lip for a moment, and he swallows at the look in her eyes, the way she's not looking away, the smile at her mouth, the softness of her skin under his hand.

"What are you thinking about?" The words are a whisper, because he doesn't think he can summon anything more. All he can do is stare at her, his hand moving over her skin, her hair falling over his hands, and he bites his lip, suddenly seized by a worry that she didn't enjoy it, that she's too surprised...

Her lips move uncertainly, her eyes never leaving his. He strokes her cheek slowly, unable to stop himself, and smiles as he feels her shiver slightly.

"Um-" She shakes her head, and he watches her lips, already longing to tilt his head in and kiss her again.

She stares at him, that dreamy look in her eyes again-the one he notices sometimes, when she thinks no-one's watching her. "Wow."

The word is a soft breath on the air and Merrill bursts out laughing. She blinks, confused and that just makes him laugh even harder, because, of all the reactions he expected, that one definitely came last on the list.

Her cheeks flush pink, and Merrill can't help but stare at her again, watching the way she bites her lip awkwardly, as though worried she's upset him, said the wrong thing. She shrugs and he shakes his head, still laughing, longing to find the words to tell her that she doesn't need to worry, that it's fine by him, that he loves what she said, that he loves her being so...

Isabelle shakes her head again, quickly dropping her gaze, chewing her lip. "I didn't-sorry, I-"

Merrill shakes his head quickly, laughter still shaking his body, but leaning forward, wanting to reassure her, that he didn't mind, that it's OK...That little crease of worry is back between her eyes.

"No, I'm not laughing at you-" He swallows, forcing air into his lungs. "I'm not, it's just-" He inhales sharply, feeling as though he hasn't breathed properly in a year. "Just the way you said it. It was kind of-" He shrugs, wishing he had the words, could say things the way she can, so that she'd understand his meaning. "I dunno." He lets the words fall into the air, but keeps his hand stroking her skin, playing with her hair, letting her know it's OK, there's nothing to worry about.

Isabelle bites her lip, apparently slightly reassured. "Sorry." The word is a whisper, and Merrill feels his own lips flicker in an answering grin. "Don't be sorry. I liked it."

Isabelle's gaze wanders to the television screen for a moment, and Merrill fights the urge to tilt his head to hers', taste her mouth with his...but his own gaze lights upon the screen for a second.

Isabelle's eyes return to his, her hair stroking her skin, the depths of her eyes holding him still, so that he can't look away. Her smile twitches into a smirk, with more than a hint of mischief. "Which did you like?" she whispers, her words softer than ever, and more effective for that. "Kissing, or what I said?"

Merrill feels his own smile grow, unable to stop the wild happiness that rushes through him at that, the insane longing through his whole body. "Both." The word falls from his lips quickly, and his hands lose themselves in her hair as he gently pulls her back to him, his eyes flickering closed, his muscles tightening a second before her mouth brushes across his once again.

Her hands creep into his hair and she's kissing him harder this time, and he doesn't care, pulling her closer, wanting her nearer with each kiss, the feel of her hair slipping through his fingers, warm and soft, sending him crazy, the sensation of her clothes brushing against his sending jolt after jolt of longing through his body, her hands dancing against his skin, and her mouth soft and warm and alive under his.

It's a long time before they break apart this time. Merrill can barely think straight, his heartbeat thundering in his ears, and when he opens his eyes, he sees Isabelle blinking at him, in a sweet, slightly bemused way. He smiles, hoping to reassure her, in case she starts worrying that he...

Her lips twitch into a smile back and Merrill thinks it might be the sweetest thing he's ever seen. His arm slides around her shoulders once again, pulling her into him-not to kiss him this time, just to rest her head on his shoulder, her hair brushing his neck. She doesn't pull away. She just shoots him another smile, nestling further into him, her hand playing with his sleeve.

Merrill watches her as her gaze turns back to the screen, enjoys the sensation of her under his arm. She's curled into him, her eyes occasionally meeting his, and the trust he sees there, makes him want to put his arms round her and tell her it's all right, he's not going to leave her, it's OK...No matter how strong she appears, he sees something in her eyes sometimes, that makes him want to hug her and tell her everything's going to be all right. And he can't remember the last time he felt that, really felt it.

But with Isabelle, everything's different.

The noise of the television washes over him and Merrill knows he should have more important things on his mind right now, knows he should be preoccupied with what's going on, with the very simple fact that there's an alien invasion going on. But he can't stop looking at Isabelle, the way she's staring at the screen, her lip caught between her teeth, that same worried look back in her eyes...

He remembers the way she'd stared at him that first night, how her eyes had narrowed when he'd tried telling her to stay inside, that it was too dangerous. He'd stared at her, somehow impressed with how she folded her arms, teeth set as she glared at him, but being terrified in case anything should happen to her. She was...she was too...

Merrill didn't have the words for it and wondered if anyone actually did, but he knew he couldn't let anything happen to her. No matter how much she glared at him over it.

He liked that, though; the way she wanted to be involved, the way she wouldn't back down; something about it made him stare at her, watch the way she stared ahead, her chin tilted, her eyes daring anyone to a challenge. But he noticed the way her gaze faltered sometimes, the way her nails would creep to her mouth when she thought no-one was looking, and every time he saw that, he had to fight the urge to pull her into a hug, to make her laugh at something, bring a smile back to her lips.

Merrill's aware of how tired he is, his body suddenly feeling heavy with exhaustion and he's fighting to keep his eyes open, but he doesn't want to leave her alone. Not with what's going on. He doesn't want to be away from her right now.

She curls further into his arms now, and he tightens his hold on her, wanting her to know that she doesn't have to worry, that he won't let anything hurt her, he'd never let anything hurt her...Her voice is a whisper in his ear, the words tickling his skin in the best way possible.

"There's so many." She huddles closer and his arm slides further around her. "God, what if you were right, earlier?" She glances at him, eyes wide. "What if they're hovering over us? Like, right now?"

She stares up at the ceiling and Merrill fights back a grin, watching the way her eyes flicker nervously, as if expecting an alien to burst through the ceiling right that moment. She bites her lip, her hand brushing his.

"You OK?" He watches her closely, noticing the way her eyes linger on the ceiling before her gaze slowly meets his. He remembers how she huddled into his shoulder earlier, telling him about her sister, about Ray Reddy, and how he'd held her, feeling her hair brush his fingers, her face buried in his shirt, and how the only thought that had echoed in his brain was _I won't hurt you. I would never, ever hurt you._

She glances at him shyly, eyes bright. "Yeah." She tilts her head back toward his and her mouth touches his for the briefest of moments, again. It's a sweet, gentle, moment of a kiss, but Merrill is finding it increasingly hard to breathe by the time she pulls away and he can't wipe the smile that finds its' way to his lips, unable to hide the happiness filtering through to every part of his body like sunlight.

She leans back and he smiles, marvelling at the way the light catches her eyes, the way her smile makes him feel-just her smile makes him want to pull her closer. She doesn't look away from him. Instead, she just stares back, her own gaze as intent as his.

Several moments pass and Isabelle doesn't look away from him. Merrill stares at her, a slight worry creeping into his head. "What?" He's careful to keep his tone gentle, as calm and quiet as possible.

Isabelle shakes her head slowly, that smile flickering back to her lips. "Nothing. Just-you look a bit tired. Happy, but tired." He wants to kiss her again, just for the way she says the words. She's still staring at him, her head tipped to the side in an apparently unconscious gesture. "You OK?" She watches him cautiously, her eyes wider than ever, and he closes his eyes, revelling in the sensation of her hair slipping over his fingers.

"Just didn't get much sleep last night." He grimaces inwardly at the memory of his nephew shaking him awake that morning, his eyes wide, his mouth frantic with whispered enquiries of what had happened during the night and if the aliens would possibly be able to read thoughts when they arrived.

"Morgan woke me up at five." He yanks himself up straighter in the chair, as though the movement will somehow make his eyelids less heavy. Isabelle feels right under his arm and in different circumstances, he could quite happily, put his head on her shoulder and sleep for hours right now, as long as she was there when he woke up.

Isabelle's eyes narrow, as she watches him, apparently coming to a decision about something. "Do you want to-" She trails off for a moment. "I don't know, go to sleep for a bit?" She raises an eyebrow, hand playing with the cloth of his shirt. "I'll wake you if anything happens."

Merrill would like nothing better than to sleep, but it feels wrong to leave Isabelle sitting up watching the TV on her own. But his eyelids are drooping and he can't help yawning as he tells her "I'll be OK." He suspects he looks the exact opposite of his statement.

Isabelle raises an eyebrow and as tired as he is, he suppresses a smile, at the expression on her face. That look in her eyes, as if she can see right through him, right into him, past anything he puts up...it makes him feel scared and strangely peaceful all at once. Lying to Isabelle, he already suspects, would be impossible.

"Merrill." Her tone brooks no argument and there's that gleam in her eyes again. Her next words are gentler. "Come on. Just go to sleep for a bit." She leans slightly closer, her words almost brushing his skin. "You'll feel better afterwards. No-one's going to go anywhere."

The words are soft, whispered, and Merrill can think of nothing better at that moment than closing his eyes and falling asleep next to her, but he still argues for a few moments, more out of a feeling of guilt than anything else. Though there's still a part of him that wonders if he'll wake up and find this has all been a dream.

But Isabelle coaxes at him, her words gentle, and points out that he can't go without sleep forever, and it's better he get some now rather than later, because neither of them know what's going to happen, and he might as well be rested for it. Eventually, he agrees, though not without savouring the look in her eyes, the way her lips purse when she's determined about something, her gaze holding his.

"Only for a bit," he tells her, his eyes already falling closed. "Just for a bit."

Isabelle nods, her smile faint but enough to burn itself into his memory. "Fine." He smiles himself, feeling sleep lapping at the edges of his mind, his eyes closed, conscious of how good Isabelle feels under his arm, curled up beside him...

He's not sure what makes him do it. But something about those words-_Neither of us know what's going to happen-_echoes through his mind. And he-he doesn't want Isabelle to-he doesn't-

He can't put it into words. But he just knows that should anything happen, he doesn't want Isabelle to think the wrong thing. He doesn't want her to think he just wanted to make out with her to get his mind off things. He doesn't want her to get the wrong idea.

His eyes flicker open again and he's saying her name before he can stop himself. "Isabelle?"

She turns toward him immediately and even drowsy, her smile makes his heart jump slightly, brings an answering smile to his own mouth. "Yeah?"

He feels the blood rise to his cheeks, his eyes dropping, suddenly unsure how to put it. "I just kind of-" He bites his lip, wishing he had her gift with words, so he could say exactly what he wants to say and be sure she's understood him perfectly. He doesn't want to get this wrong.

Isabelle nods, and moves closer to him, her eyes narrowing. "What?" She nudges him gently, her eyes soft, her hand brushing his.

He swallows, before meeting her eyes. He might as well be looking at her. "I just-" He takes a moment to stare at her before just blurting it out. "I-I really like you."

Isabelle stares at him and he smiles at the look in her eyes-that half-shy look, combined with the smile playing at her lips. His thumb brushes her cheek, a strand of her hair dancing over his skin, which he tucks gently behind her ear. "I just wanted to say that," he murmurs, not wanting to elaborate on the reasons behind this sudden declaration.

Isabelle's eyes are wide as they meet his own but her lips are settled in a small smile. "I like you, too." The words are soft and almost too quiet to be heard but they make Merrill feel lighter than air, almost too happy to think straight as he looks at her.

"Good." The word is gentle, and simple and says what he wants to say. He smiles at the look on her face, that light in her eyes that he's never seen there before and that makes him want to stare at her for hours, lose himself, drown in her.

She leans forward, her lips fluttering across his cheek in a butterfly kiss. "Sleep well."

Merrill wants to say something else-anything else-but he's too tired, his thoughts slipping in and out of focus. He settles for a smile, letting his eyes meet hers', relishing the way she nestles further under his arm, settling herself there, where she fits as comfortably as though they've been doing this for years, instead of only knowing each other two days. Though Merrill doesn't know if it matters, not really. Maybe how long they've known each other doesn't make much difference. Not right now.

His eyes fall closed, and his arm slumps round Isabelle's shoulders. The last thing he's aware of before he slips into dreams is the warmth of her next to him, the sweetness of her hair, the feeling of her curled up against his body, and the memory of her lips on his.

And that, Merrill decides, is just about the best sensation in the world to take into his dreams.

**Hope you guys enjoyed that! I love writing Merrill and Isabelle :) Anyway, if anyone's interested, the song that I used for this was Come on, Get Higher by Matt Nathanson-I love that song, and it was in the soundtrack for the original Chapter 8, anyway, so I listened to it again. **

**Sequel will be up in a couple of months-hope you guys enjoyed this!**

**Love, hallowgirl :)x**


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